


International Waters

by lady_ragnell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Boat Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: "I'm trying to illustrate that if you ask me for something, I'm probably going to say yes."Grantaire and Enjolras go out on a boat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, tomorrow's gonna be a tough day for a lot of people. Sometimes, the best you can do to put love out there in the world is to write irredeemable boat sex. Keep yourselves as okay as you can, guys.
> 
> This is technically in some kind of AU where they're a Leverage-esque team of thieves and con men fighting the power, but really that's not the point of this so I did not tag it as such.
> 
> Inspired by **samyazaz** , who helped me decide that there should be some porn in the universe this week, and by an anon on my tumblr, who [suggested this title in a recent meme](http://theladyragnell.tumblr.com/post/155866053533/exr-international-waters).

Grantaire cuts the engine once they're in international waters and refuses to fill the silence the motor leaves in its wake. He lets his ears adjust to waves and birds instead, and doesn't look at Enjolras stretched out on the deck wearing a swimsuit that should be illegal and sunglasses, a book propped open on his chest, though he hasn't bothered to flip a page since they left the harbor.

He feels stupidly like he's a kid again, touring some school study partner around his house, ready to wring his hands and give an awkward show of where all the dishes are and where the bathroom is. Enjolras has been out on the boat before. It's just never been the two of them alone.

Enjolras tilts his head slowly in Grantaire's direction. “Do you need help dropping anchor or anything?”

Somehow, in the middle of his many skills at everything from picking locks to gaining followers, Enjolras is endearingly bad at all things nautical even though he loves the water and goes swimming whenever he can. Grantaire should not have been as surprised as he was when Enjolras offered to go out with him after their latest brush with the law. “We're not dropping anchor here. Just drifting for a while.”

“Good. Then you can come here and sit for a while.”

Grantaire is better at following his orders when they're not trying to save the world. He doesn't know what that says about either of them, but he suspects it says that they shouldn't be alone on a boat together, where Grantaire is only going to fuck up the fragile peace that's lasted for weeks now. But he can't stay across the boat from Enjolras for however long this trip lasts, so he crosses the deck and sits in one of the chairs, props his feet on the spray-slippery rail. “I'm sorry no one else came. I'll bore you pretty quickly.”

He can't read Enjolras's expression with the stupid mirrored sunglasses he has on in the way. Grantaire is pretty sure they're Courfeyrac's, and he hates them. Enjolras is hard enough to read as it is. “You're many things, but you aren't boring.”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment.”

“Does it matter? It's true.” Enjolras hums, head tilting until he's probably looking up at the sky again, the wisps of clouds breaking up the blue. It's a glorious day. “You never told me why you bought a boat.”

“I've had it for years.”

“And you never said why.”

“Isn't it the stereotype? You make it rich through what the law would call ill-gotten gains and you buy a boat. I'm only playing to tradition.”

A gull cries overhead, and it's only another uncomfortable reminder that they're alone together in the middle of the ocean, not just for five minutes while their friends are busy doing other things or while their particular skills are needed at the same time for a job. “If you say so,” says Enjolras, ready to drop it. He never presses Grantaire, asks a question once and takes whatever answer he gets and Grantaire is taken by surprise by it every time. He never gives the right answer the first time, or at least not the true one.

“My grandpa,” Grantaire starts, and almost can't finish when Enjolras snaps to look at him again, behind those damn sunglasses that are only showing Grantaire his own face. It's not exactly a sight he relishes. “He grew up in a fishing town. Said the only place he could ever really think was out in a boat. I wanted to try.”

“Did it work?”

“Hard to say. But it's the only peaceful thing I've tried that hasn't made me go out of my skull with boredom.”

The stare behind the sunglasses is unnerving. Enjolras's expressions are all in his eyes, not in his mouth, and Grantaire feels like he's steering through the conversation with his eyes closed. “I always loved the ocean,” Enjolras finally says. “I never really went out in boats, though.”

“Well, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

It's a simple agreement, but it makes Grantaire itch and want to turn around even though they've both got bags packed and plans to stay out for days, to let the world's comments on their latest work die down. “Why did you agree to come? When everyone else said they couldn't, I didn't expect you to take me up on the invitation.”

“Why do you think I agreed to come?”

Not an honest answer, but an honest question, and one Grantaire has no idea how to answer. “Please take off your sunglasses,” he says, a different kind of honesty.

Enjolras does, no coyness and no hesitation about it. He just takes them off with no hurry, uses one of the arms as a bookmark for his book, and sets them both to the side without bothering to look away from Grantaire. There's more warmth in his eyes than Grantaire is expecting, enough to catch him off guard. It's a kind of warmth he can't say he's ever expected from Enjolras. “I wanted to see if you would finally seduce me.”

“Probably not,” Grantaire admits, startled. “I never had a notion that you would have welcomed it.”

“I thought I'd been making my welcome obvious for nearly a month.”

Grantaire almost tells him he's done no such thing, before he pulls back and thinks of how lately, his baiting has trailed off into unsure silence because Enjolras has just watched him through it instead of arguing or storming out, letting him wind himself down and then asking a quiet question. Thinks of looking up from laughing with some of their friends and finding himself pinned under the weight of Enjolras's quiet attention. Thinks of just a few days ago, Enjolras's almost-gentle “I'm fine” cutting through his own panic when he thought the police had caught him after all. It stings a little knowing it's only been going on for nearly a month when he's wanted Enjolras for more than a year, but he doesn't think it stings enough to keep him from being grateful. “Not obvious enough. When you want something, you usually ask.”

“I was hoping you would. But you stopped even joking about it a long time ago.”

“Yes. Once I decided the rejection would actually hurt.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras sighs, but he doesn't look annoyed. There's something soft in his face that Grantaire doesn't usually get to see, and certainly has never had turned on him. “I would very much like to fuck you. Now ask me if we can.”

It's not a grand romance, but Grantaire doesn't care much for pride and dignity. If Enjolras wants him to ask for what's being offered, he'll do it. “Will you let me kiss you?” he asks to start, a test.

This smile is more familiar. It's the one that only shows up when Enjolras knows he's won. “Come here,” he says, and then his arm is looping around Grantaire's neck to make sure he obeys.

Enjolras has a generous mouth—generous with smiles for his friends and sharp words for people who get in his way, with very little of that munificence bestowed on Grantaire—and he's generous with it here too. He's pulled Grantaire over him, at an angle where their noses don't bump, and like everything else he wants to do well, he kisses like he's studied it, the exact movement of lips and caress of tongues to make Grantaire's brain light up.

Grantaire doesn't know what to do with his hands. He's over Enjolras, and has some dim feeling that he should be taking control, should be pressing him back, but Enjolras is drawing him down instead, and all Grantaire can do is lean his weight on his hands so he doesn't tip forward and crush Enjolras.

The kiss ends, but Grantaire doesn't go anywhere. He's left feeling foolish, lips a breath away from Enjolras's, eyes closed, hands clenched around the hard plastic edges of the deck chair. “Is that all you wanted to do?” Enjolras asks.

“You said you want to fuck me.” That sounds hopelessly daring and out of reach even with Enjolras's bare skin next to his. “I'm not going to say no.”

“So ask me.”

“What, you want me to humiliate myself begging you?”

Enjolras sighs, impatient, and Grantaire opens his eyes. Enjolras looks annoyed. That's a familiar point to anchor him. Enjolras lifts a hand and brushes Grantaire's hair out of his eyes, the annoyance quirking into half a smile, and Grantaire is unmoored again. “I'm trying to illustrate that if you ask me for something, I'm probably going to say yes. You don't seem to understand yet.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I'd like three quarters of your cut from our next job so I can buy a second boat,” Grantaire says, and immediately regrets it because Enjolras frowns, disappointed. Grantaire finally gets the strength to straighten. “What do you expect me to say? You know that's not true.”

“Two jobs ago, you ...” Enjolras looks away, for once. “You were worried, and you asked me to come home alive.”

“You wouldn't have done that for yourself?”

“Maybe. And for the rest of our friends. But you were the one who asked. And I remembered that.”

Two jobs ago. Just before there started to be peace between them, just before Enjolras started watching him. Grantaire swallows. “You're right. I still don't understand any of this. Will you please just tell me what's going on?”

A question, and an answer. A yes, if Enjolras is telling the truth. “You asked me to stay alive and I stayed alive. You asked me to come out on this boat and I came. And somewhere in between that I realized that I want you.”

“That you want to fuck me.”

Enjolras shrugs. “Among other things. But I'll take that for now. It seemed easier to explain. We don't do well with words, you and I. This conversation proves that.”

“But you still want me to ask you.” He doesn't wait for the confirmation this time. “Will you fuck me? If I ask you that, you can't wait for another question until it's done.” Or, if it's how the game works: “Will you do it how you want it? Please?”

“That's not fair. What if you don't like how I want it?”

“Then I'll say no.” Enjolras frowns, exactly as skeptical as he should be. “You said you'd say yes if I asked you for anything. Trust that I'll stop you if I need to stop.” Physically, anyway. Grantaire knows that no matter what happens, he's breaking his own heart here, because Enjolras's newfound desire to give Grantaire what he asks for can't work miracles.

This time, Enjolras sits up to kiss him. He presses Grantaire back and it feels like it makes sense this time, with Enjolras pressing him forward instead of pulling him down. The chairs are a problem, and they stand up by the kind of mutual consent and fumbling that can happen when two people are unwilling to stop kissing. Enjolras is gentle with his hands and devastating with his mouth, gently stroking Grantaire's shoulders and nipping into his mouth.

A wave rocks the boat enough to pull them apart, and Grantaire breathes and doesn't dive in again. He pushes the chairs out of the way instead and sits down on the deck. He doesn't want to go into the cabin.

Enjolras smiles down at him, the sun behind him, catching in his hair. “Yes,” he says, like Grantaire asked him a question. “Excuse me for a moment. I packed something.”

Grantaire waits, and doesn't ask, and notices distantly sometime while Enjolras is gone that he's hard, or at least getting there quickly, tenting his shorts. He hesitates, looking down at them, but he's halfway out of them when Enjolras comes back.

“Oh good, we had the same idea,” says Enjolras, standing over him unconcernedly nude, a small bottle and a foil packet in his hands. He's hard too, and when he kneels his eyes have gone dark, and he's impatient shoving Grantaire's shorts down past his knees, only to pause, resting a hand just over Grantaire's navel, a gentle and insistent weight that keeps him effectively pinned down.

“Aren't you going to do what I asked?” says Grantaire, as teasing as he can let himself be when Enjolras is giving his body a long, appraising look.

“I already am.” Almost absent. Enjolras is focused on something else, curling his fingers just enough to make Grantaire's muscles jump. “But you aren't ready.”

“Isn't that what the lube is for?”

Enjolras bends to kiss him instead of answering, and Grantaire stays where he is and feels it, Enjolras touching his stomach and kissing him again, slow this time, letting him catch air in little pants before coming back in again. Grantaire knows what he's doing in a bed, but he can't manage to do any of it right now, not when it might get in the way of whatever plan Enjolras seems to have.

After a while, Enjolras starts sweeping his hand up and down while they kiss, up almost to rest on Grantaire's neck, down so his wrist almost brushes against Grantaire's erection. Grantaire feels absurdly like a cat being stroked, and he flails a hand until he can reach Enjolras's shoulder and pulls him in, pulls him down until he has to leave off or crush his arm in between them. He doesn't seem to mind the new position, using it to cover Grantaire with his body, pressing them together without crushing him. Grantaire wants to be crushed, a little, but that can wait. He pets over Enjolras's back like Enjolras did his stomach, until Enjolras is arching into his hand.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop for a minute,” Enjolras says after a while, almost apologetic.

Grantaire squints at the sky and wonders if the sun has moved or if it only feels like they've been kissing for hours. He almost blurts out something stupid about reapplying sunscreen, but knowing Enjolras, he did that in the cabin while he was getting the lube (it would explain the faint tackiness of his skin), and Grantaire doesn't really care if he ends up needing something for sunburn later. “Why?”

“I want to blow you while I prep you.”

He has to catch his breath at that. Of course Enjolras would be like this in bed, no obfuscation or nicety about any of it. “Please, be my guest. I'm sure I can handle being deprived of kissing you for a little while.”

“Feel free to make as much noise as you want,” says Enjolras, and there's the sound of a bottle of lube being opened.

Grantaire has been fucked before, and likes it (and he remembers a conversation nearly a year ago where he'd been telling a few wicked stories to Bahorel to make him laugh and looked up to find Enjolras watching them, and Enjolras can't have been paying attention, not for that long). Usually, though, the preparation is just a chore. Enough lube and enough stretching to make the fucking pleasant, perhaps with a mouth on his cock to sweeten the deal a little.

Enjolras, of course, never manages to do what Grantaire expects. He devotes himself to opening Grantaire up with a single-mindedness that makes Grantaire feel like one of the locks Enjolras picks, like one of the puzzles he twists around and around until he knows exactly how to solve it. Sometimes, he bends his head, sucks or licks for a little while, but he's focused on his fingers, on finding every sensitive spot Grantaire has and exploiting it.

Grantaire can't look at what's happening without feeling like he's going to explode, so he closes his eyes and feels it happening instead, every twist of Enjolras's clever fingers and every thoughtful hum he makes as he finds the best way to unlock Grantaire's body. Grantaire knows he's panting out little noises almost every time he exhales and can't spare the energy to stop, because everything is sensation. Enjolras inside him and Enjolras over him and the sun burning hot on his face and the gentle rocking of the boat.

“Aren't you done yet?” he asks, feeling a little wild, when Enjolras has what must be four fingers inside him and is using them to devastating effect.

“You're not ready.”

Grantaire opens his eyes just so he can make sure Enjolras is looking at his outraged expression. “I'm ready. Believe me. I'm not fragile.”

“I know you're not. But I'm enjoying myself.”

“That is not the same thing as me not being ready. Will you please get inside me?”

Enjolras's lips immediately curve up, and Grantaire knows he's just given him exactly what he wants and can't bring himself to care. “Yes,” he says, and then he's kissing Grantaire again, pulling his fingers carefully out and busying his hands with a condom and getting them perfectly aligned.

Both of them exhale when Enjolras slides inside, Grantaire shaky and Enjolras with a little hiss, all of his muscles tense like he's holding back. Grantaire watches him waiting there with his eyes squinted shut, nearly trembling, probably waiting for Grantaire to ask him again, to go along with whatever plan this is. The pause lets Grantaire breathe, though, lets him think. He can't just go belly-up, give Enjolras exactly what he wants. That's not what they are.

He pulls Enjolras down instead, kisses him instead of letting it happen to him, kisses Enjolras until he's distracted enough to rock his hips. That's a victory, and Grantaire smiles with it, curls his leg up and around Enjolras's hip to encourage him to move again. Enjolras hesitates, but he doesn't pull his mouth away from Grantaire's, doesn't expect a question. He moves.

Grantaire doesn't have very good leverage with nothing as a bolster under his hips, but he moves with Enjolras, and Enjolras moves with the gentle rocking of the boat, deep slow thrusts that make both of them moan and pull their lips apart to breathe.

“I don't know how I want to get you off,” Enjolras says, low, and Grantaire thinks he should have sacrificed breathing to keep Enjolras from talking when that alone is going to make him come embarrassingly fast. “I might learn how to get you off without touching you someday, but today … I could use my hands. Or blow you once I've come.”

Grantaire, just because he can, takes a hand off Enjolras's shoulder and slides it down between them, touches his own dick, squeezes a little. He's not really meaning to get off, but Enjolras scowls at him, sharp and fierce, and Grantaire laughs, and everything settles into place. This is them, after all. Everything makes a little more sense when there's some challenge in it.

“Fine,” Enjolras says, and for the first time he changes rhythm, speeds up to chase orgasm instead of drawing it out and teasing. He bats Grantaire's hand out of the way and reaches down between them instead, even if it means he's leaning most of his weight on one hand.

Grantaire busies his hands touching Enjolras everywhere he can reach, stroking his shoulders, his chest, his back, finding the spots that make him speed up or slow down or pant a little louder in Grantaire's ear. They're not even trying to kiss right now, not when air is growing to be a precious commodity as they chase to the finish. Enjolras is ruthless with his hand on Grantaire's dick, following Grantaire's smallest reaction to make it better and better, his hips at just the right angle to make Grantaire spark up inside too.

When Grantaire comes, he's almost disappointed, behind the white-hot pleasure that has him arching, making a louder noise than he means to, his leg finally slipping from Enjolras's hip. It's nearly over now, and that's only made more obvious by the way Enjolras speeds up, determined to come before Grantaire gets too sensitive to keep him inside.

Enjolras is making little noises on every thrust now, and Grantaire keeps moving with him as well as he can, keeps stroking down Enjolras's sides like he's an animal that needs soothing, and Enjolras bends his head and comes, silent and still for a long moment.

The world intrudes too soon, almost as soon as Enjolras slides out of him, taking care of the condom and then sitting up, only their legs touching. There are still gulls crying overhead, and when Grantaire struggles to sit and peek over the railing, there's another ship coming in sight, though it's far enough away that whoever is on it probably didn't hear them.

He looks back at Enjolras, and Enjolras is watching him, smiling with enough fondness to make Grantaire blink, a little surprised. “You should have worn sunscreen,” he says. “I'll get you some.”

Grantaire thinks he stammers something about shutting the barn door after the horse already ran out, but a minute later, Enjolras is back with a bottle of sunscreen and a cool washcloth, cleaning him first and applying the sunscreen after, endearingly businesslike about it all.

“Ask me,” Enjolras says when he's finished, “for what you want.”

As always, Grantaire wants too much from Enjolras. He always wants his attention, his unattainable respect, his conversation, his friendship. Now that he's had a taste of hope, he wants to ask Enjolras to stay forever or tell him he loves him, to see if this game will extend that far. “Will you stay right here for a little while?” he asks instead.

Maybe Enjolras heard a little bit of what he was thinking, because he frowns a little, but he stays, puts his arm around Grantaire and holds him close even though they're both naked on a boat in the middle of the ocean and the sunscreen is only going to save them so much embarrassment. “Yes,” says Enjolras, firm, and Grantaire leans into his arm, looks up at the blue, blue sky, and lets himself hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Wear sunscreen even when you're having outdoor boat sex, kids. Perhaps especially then.


End file.
